


Worse Ways to Live

by eilishly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluffy, Lazy Mornings, Smut, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilishly/pseuds/eilishly
Summary: There is beauty in the mundane.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	Worse Ways to Live

There are certainly worse ways to die, Severus thought to himself, as he woke inhaling his wife’s hair. Ah yes, his wife. Hermione Granger-Snape had curled herself around him in her sleep, and being the ever dutiful husband...he let her. In his defence, he had been unconscious. Had he been awake as she nestled her face into the crook of his war torn neck...he would have grumbled, but admitted defeat. She was incredibly persuasive, you see. 

Whilst Severus gently nudged the curls away from his face, he adjusted to his surroundings. Streams of pale April sunlight bled in through the windows, allowing him to see that it was far too early to be awake. One eyelid cracked open, he held back a sigh, lest he wake the lioness beside him. Not that it was possible. Hermione claimed to be a light sleeper...not a lie, but certainly an untruth. 

He had to admit, he slept better since the war, but he could not succumb to his dreams as easily as she. Nightmares didn’t come in shapes of murder or piecring green eyes anymore...they were filled with imaginary arguments and forgetting to turn off the stove. The feeling of his naked wife pressed against him was almost a relief when he woke, but once reality hit...Severus realised he enjoyed his nightmares. He had become mundane. What a wonderful feeling. 

It was entirely Hermione’s fault. Well, mostly. The impertinent little witch had help. She also appealed to greater need, one where Severus was able to feel useful. At first, he had resented it. He was told by many an elderly idiot, ranging from the new headmistress to her former superior who was framed in her office, that he needed to learn who he really was. Bollocks. Once he had physically recovered from the snake bite, he did whatever the hell he wanted. He served no one. After a few months, such a lifestyle grew tiresome. He had come to the realisation that he was not a leader, but a soldier in need of a lieutenant. A house elf in need of a master. Wonderful. 

Hermione lacked a flair for subtlety, but had shifted into his life so seamlessly, he could hardly imagine being without her. Impertinent chit. There had been a time when he resented the presence of the curly haired witch, and yearned for the day she would sod off permanently. Before their courtship, he could tolerate her at Ministry functions - particularly when she wore that rather delightful satin dress. Ahem. The thought of her in anything that seductive was enough to cause a stirring beneath his linen sheets. 

Any sort of meeting that stretched beyond a two minute acknowledgement had been far too long in his opinion. From a distance, Hermione Granger had been harmless. With the assistance of Minerva McGonagall, and the rest of the sodding staff, she was everywhere. Severus couldn’t escape her, and in a matter of months he found himself reluctant to do so. 

Hermione was a beautiful curse, she came wrapped in her own scars and nightmares - ones that they would only share when April bloomed into May. They swapped stories reluctantly, with the assistance of a drink or five. In her case, three. His dearest wife had never been able to handle her liquor. As he lay beside her in the early hours of an average Sunday morning, they were two halves of a very strange entity. 

Sunday had soon become his favourite day of the week. Severus sank deeper into the bed as he remembered, there would be no students today. He would remain in the comfort of his own Hogsmeade cottage with his family, as he did all day - every other Sunday. An arrangement he had settled with the Headmistress, after such a long and dutiful service, he deserved a bloody day off. At the time, her face had been impassive, but her eyes were lit with words she would never say. Too many bridges had been burned. He had noticed, however, that that bloody twinkle seemed to be a gift passed from one head of the school to the next. Perhaps, if he had not killed his predecessor, Dumbledore might have let him in on the secret.

No. His eyes would never shine. Besides, he preferred it that way. There was nothing about him that shone, only his company. Speaking of...the beautiful witch had started to stir. One leg drifted across both of his, and she pressed her pretty face deeper into those ugly scars. It was a habit of hers, to kiss them when she first woke. This day was no different. 

Though Severus might have predicted that, there was no set routine. Though he would always wake first, it wasn’t always like this. Some days he would fetch coffee, or abandon her for a morning paper. Other mornings he could find himself particularly attentive, and kiss his witch awake. A lazy smile would stretch across her lips, and with a hum of approval his mouth would find its way between her legs. That was his favourite start to the day. 

Fortunately, they had spent the night before rutting like a pair of teenagers, which was no good for his back. That made him laugh. Surreal domesticity had become the new normal: these days he woke complaining about getting too much sex with a very attractive witch. He pushed the duvet down to his hips, giving him a much better view. Her being pressed against him obscured some of his favourite parts, but he appreciated every inch of skin on display. Severus admired each curve and scar, he made a point to bring her forearm to his lips...kissing the one word that taunted him almost daily. He knew he was lucky, he didn’t have to wear it.

Hermione hummed in appreciation, still enjoying his neck as a pillow.

“What time is it?” He managed to hear. 

“I would assume a little after six.” Severus replied, his voice rough with sleep. 

“I thought it might be.” She groaned, but tilted her head upwards to catch sight of his face. 

He met her tired gaze with the slightest smile. Dark eyes looked first at the window, and then towards the door. 

“What gave it away?” He asked her, and captured a stray curl between his thumb and forefinger. 

“It’s quiet.” She whispered, Severus could almost feel her smile. 

Where he offered subtle signs of emotion, Hermione made up for it in bucketloads. She didn’t merely smile, she would beam. He could be lost in the thickest fog, her blasted positivity was a beacon of light. Bloody Gryffindor. 

It was his turn to agree with a hum. He pulled away from her slightly and shifted, allowing him the pleasure of kissing her scar-free neck. Opportunities like these were rare, so really he shouldn’t have wasted any time. It was impossible not to savour all of her, especially when his name fell from her lips so beautifully. 

“Severus.” She sighed, and stretched out the curve in her back. 

She was getting older too...but not by much. That was his department. 

“I’m surprised you have the energy.” She remarked, and toyed with the hair at the back of his neck.

“You will find, witch, that I always have the energy for someone so...delectable.” He was quick to reply, his lips moved swiftly from her neck to her collarbone. 

Her laughter landed on one note, and as he hovered over her, small hands moved from his hair to his shoulder blades. She drew light circles on his back, only faltering when his thumb grazed her nipple.

He pressed a free finger to his lips, and Hermione laughed unapologetically. She couldn’t help it. 

“You are not helping.” Severus told her, pretending to be cross. 

“Neither are you. Do I have to do everything by myself?” She shot back, pouting.

“I would certainly enjoy such a performance.” He whispered, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

Before her hand could take the time to creep past her abdomen, they heard the floorboards shift. Further down the hall, someone else had started to rise. 

“I told you to be quiet.” Severus grumbled, and resumed his previous position on the bed. 

Hermione swatted his arm gently, and slipped out of the bed in search of some clothes. He leaned his head back against the headboard, and drank in the sight. His wife managed to catch the smirk on his face before she reached the door. She pulled one of his old, rather ugly looking t-shirts over her head, and his smirk grew wider. Possessive witch. 

“Prat. Put some clothes on.” She suggested, and flashed him a genuine smile.

She left before he could point out that such a feat was impossible when she was wearing them. He summoned some pyjamas from the chest of drawers, trying not to imagine the position they might have been in had they not been disturbed. It wasn’t an all out disturbance, but it certainly put a dampener on things. There was also the matter of a certain person managing to get past their locking charms as of late. Accidental magic had stopped being endearing when it became an inconvenience. 

The door creaked open just as he was settling back behind the duvet, though there was little point. Far too warm, and restrictive. Besides, the third person in the room had gained a reputation as a fidget - it was only a matter of time before she kicked them away. 

“Hello Daddy. I brought books!” The small child greeted him cheerily.

There were roughly five books stacked underneath both arms, along with a sixth that Hermione had brought along with her. Severus couldn’t tell if it was for their daughter, or one of her own personal collection. It didn’t take a Ravenclaw to work out where she had picked up that particular trait. 

Then again, she never enjoyed reading them herself. That task would usually fall to him, not that he’d get very far. Roughly three pages in, his narration would be interrupted with questions which led to mostly one sided conversations. Another habit that was distinctively Granger - nothing to do with him...and yet Helena Eileen Snape was every bit his daughter. 

Her hair was as wild as her mother’s, but nearly as dark his. She wore his eyes, though he had never seen them look so soft, so full of admiration - at least not in his own reflection. There were no harsh angles to her face, or any part of her for that matter. Helena was built with round, rosy cheeks and a smile to match Hermione’s. That could be down to the fact that she was only four, soon to be five, then again...he could never remember looking that way when he was young. 

Old memories were disrupted by the heavy thunk of five books landing in his lap. Severus didn’t wince, though he wanted to, but shot his child a glare. Try as he might, it was impossible to stay mad at her for very long. 

Helena had wedged herself between both parents, but eventually found her way in the crook of her father’s arm. He managed to catch a glimpse of his wife pouting, evidently a bit put out that their daughter found her way to him every damn time. Merlin only knew why. Severus was the grumpier parent, stricter, and was not inclined to displays of affection whether they were behind closed doors or not. Perhaps, like her mother, she simply enjoyed the challenge. 

“This one.” She pressed a pudgy finger into the cover of the book closest to her. 

“A favourite of yours?” He asked, gently teasing. 

Helena missed the joke, after all, no one had managed to get past chapter one just yet. Severus had been reading the same four pages to his daughter every other sunday for the last three months. He could only imagine what his wife had suffered through. Then again, she didn’t need prompting from Helena...children’s book or not, she would read of her own accord. 

“Read.” She pouted, arms folded for effect. 

“As you wish.” He sighed, and launched into the same introduction as he had only a fortnight ago.

Hermione shuffled closer, and ran a hand through Helena’s curls. Normally an efficient witch such as herself would already be planning the day, subjecting herself to additional office hours or immersed in the latest research paper. For now, she seemed content in Helena’s company...and his. How on earth had that happened? A perfect sized family, one that he had never expressed any desire for, had stolen his bed...and his heart. Bloody Granger and her bleeding heart genetics. 

Five pages in, and the small girl was yet to interrupt him. Perhaps this time she truly wanted to read- 

“Can I have a birthday party?” There it was. 

“Excuse me?” He asked, barely looking up from the book. 

Helena crawled from her place beside him, atop of the covers, and on his lap. She pushed the book into his chest, and looked up at him expectantly. 

“It’s my birthday on tuesday.” She reminded him, as if he hadn’t heard a hundred times before.

Severus did make an effort with his daughter, on an evening he would travel by floo to their Hogsmeade home, and read her the same five pages before she slept. For the past seven nights, Helena had often interrupted his storytelling to remind him of the upcoming event. Now it seemed she wanted a gala in her honour. 

“So I’ve heard.” He replied. 

“I want a tea party.” She told him, sounding determined. 

It seemed there was very little wriggle room where her demands were concerned.

“Dare I ask for the guest list?” Severus winced, and rubbed his temples.

One mention of a Potter or Weasley, and he would absolutely be saying no. 

“Uhm...Mummy, Nana Snape, Uncle George-” 

Of course it would be him, Severus cursed silently. Hermione hid her laughter behind her hand, no doubt she had suggested the remaining twin be invited. Normally, he prided himself in the fact that his daughter had naturally formed some apprehension of his least favourite clans. As she had said the christmas before, 

“Too many Uncle Rons.” She murmured, pointing at the sea of red hair. It was the first time Severus had openly laughed at the Burrow. 

Uncle George, as she affectionately called him, was the only one she had any time for. Then again, his joke shop would capture the attention of a toddler. Severus had caught them both last Christmas, gossipping and giggling like two old biddies as George explained the rules of exploding snap. The idea that one day she might prefer a Weasley to her own father tugged at his heart in the most unpleasant way. He would have to take some points from Gryffindor when he returned to the castle, if only to make him feel better. 

“-and you.” She finished, wearing a sad smile. 

He understood the morose expression, and that it was his fault. This event was due to take place during working hours. 

“Helena, you know your Dad’s working. He has to look after the students at school.” Hermione chipped in, but the little witch only pulled a face in return. 

“But he doesn’t like them!” She protested with a huff. 

Severus snorted, she wasn’t wrong. 

“Your mother is right.” He murmured into her hair. 

Helena grabbed at pieces of the duvet, unhappy with such an easy defeat. 

“You will have to come to me.” He decided, trying his best not to sound too put out.

Surprisingly, it was easy.

“Hm?” The young girl looked up. 

“The elves provide adequate tea at the castle.” Severus explained, as if the answer were obvious. 

Helena missed the subtle attempt at berating her, she beamed up at him. Where had he seen that look before?

“We can have tea!” She grinned, bouncing up and down on the spot.

He took hold of both arms, in the hope of stopping the incessant movement. Helena Snape was the most delightful tempest, one of his own creation. Try as he might to deny it, he couldn’t help but enjoy seeing the happiness on every inch of her face. Happiness...that came from him. 

“So it would seem.” The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

As predicted, the books had quickly become a thing of the past. 

“Mummy, can I have breakfast in bed?” Helena asked, patting either side of her. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“No, that’s what the kitchen is for.” The witch reminded their child. 

She reluctantly moved from the bed, and slipped into a dressing gown. Helena was quick to follow her, and pressed a sloppy kiss to her father’s neck. His brow arched in surprise, and awaited some sort of explanation. 

“Mummy kisses you here. You look happy when she does.” Helena told him, and affectionately patted his scars. 

Severus said nothing, he simply nodded, and watched the two of them leave the room in search of food. A quiet morning quickly became a thing of the past, a distant dream. Helena’s accidental magic filled the house as he heard her break yet another bowl without touching it. Clumsy and explosive. There’d be a slim chance of her following in his footsteps if she kept that up. Potions required a steady hand, and overall control. Was it too early to tell what her future might behold, at four years of age? 

The wizard cast his mind back to his own beginnings, it didn’t take long until he found the answer. No one could have predicted this life for him, not at four years old...Merlin, not even four years ago. 

Reluctantly, Severus rose from his bed. His day would be spent cleaning up the result of accidental magic, reading another book from Helena’s collection, and most likely another five reminders regarding her fifth birthday. This was a far cry from the espionage and danger he had once been used to. Still, there were worse ways to live.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Hello, this isn't my first time writing SSHG, but it's the first time I've uploaded to the archives! Thanks so much for taking the time to read my fluff. This is actually a spin off from the main piece I'm working on, about a teenage Helena, but SSHG is definitely a minor element in that fic...which is turning out to be a whole world of its own. I hope you enjoyed this, and hopefully I'll be uploading more of this ship in the future.


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